


told you that i missed you

by oforamuse



Series: shameless oneshots [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Mickey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:07:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22574521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oforamuse/pseuds/oforamuse
Summary: 'you and mickey are getting married!?'or, the one where fiona had to find about ian's engagement through lip.a missing phone call set somewhere between 10x11 and 10x12
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher & Ian Gallagher, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: shameless oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652296
Comments: 14
Kudos: 362





	told you that i missed you

**Author's Note:**

> please ignore any timeline mistakes if there is any, much like the way shameless writers do. 
> 
> anyway, i miss fiona and i wish there had been some sort of acknowledgement of her in the wedding.
> 
> title taken from 'killer queen' by flo bo riva

Ian’s mid-limp towards the fridge when his phone rings in his pocket, and without bothering to check the caller ID, Mickey said he’d call him later when he’d left earlier, he answers and brings the device up to his ear.

‘You and Mickey are getting _married!?_ ’ 

Ah fuck. 

He should’ve expected this. 

‘Hey Fiona…’ Ian trails off, knowing where this conversation is most likely headed. He makes a mental checklist to prepare himself for the showdown that’s about to take place with his older sister, she’s never taken to being left out of things very lightly - which in her defense, didn’t happen very often given her being the head of the household for all of his life. 

‘Don’t _hey Fiona_ me, Ian Gallagher.’ She practically spits out, dragging the emphasis on their second name with a clear underlying message of _are you fucking kidding me_ , ‘Were you planning on telling me this anytime soon or was I supposed to find out you two were husbands at Thanksgiving or some shit?’ 

He pictures her fondly, hand on hip and the other one waving about, failing wildly to get her frustrated point across. It’s an image he saw so often throughout his childhood it’s almost comforting, warming. 

‘You planning on being home for Thanksgiving?’ Ian chimes back, hoping to buy himself some time to gather his thoughts, though he immediately knows she won’t take the bait as soon it falls out of his mouth. 

‘Don’t change the subject, Ian.’ It’s the same tone of voice she used throughout their childhood, the _go brush your teeth it’s gone midnight_ or _carl put that hammer down right now before you hurt someone_ , and for a moment he feels 12 years old and scolded. 

The words hang there and he can feel her glare down the phone, like a laser beam marking his pale skin, it’s always felt that way. The classic 100% Fiona Gallagher certified ‘I’m unimpressed’ look, a look he’s definitely been on the receiving end of far too many times to count growing up. 

‘I was- listen, it’s been a little crazy here recently, I was going to tell you. It just...slipped my mind I guess.’ Ian defends himself quickly _,_ juggling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he attempts to clear the kitchen table from this morning’s wedding planning session with Mick and Sandy. They left after a long conversation about the perfect table cloths, _table cloths_ , to go to the tux shop downtown. He didn’t know there were so many different kinds of things to be thrown, music to be played, or chairs to choose from. It’s been overwhelming to say the least, and deep down still pretty scary, there’s a small nagging part of him worried that this might be a mistake but it’s rightfully overruled by the much bigger and louder part of him saying it will be worth it. Seeing Mickey happy, being happy himself, knowing they can finally just _be_ happy together, will be worth it. Worth any amount of meetings over chairs, or flowers or whatever, he doesn’t really understand it, but he’ll do it. 

It isn’t the marriage part, really, that freaks him out - he doesn’t think so at least. He knows he wants to marry Mickey, he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with him. That’s never been the question, even when they were countries apart or failing to see other people, it was always there in the back of his mind for his future, the ideal. He’s nervous to take that final big leap, to solidify their relationship in front of the world and the law, like actual adults do. He’s seen so many marriages go wrong and it aches to think that they could end up like a statistic, after everything they’ve been through, they could end up just being part of a percentage of divorcees. 

But, also, after everything they’ve been through, they may just be strong enough to beat the odds. He doesn’t really know the statistics for gay marriages anyway, specifically for guys, he assumes they must be slightly better, happier or some shit. 

If they can make it through homophobic murderous dads, prison sentences and annoying twinks, they can make it through this. 

His mind falls back to Fiona on the other end, her constant stream of failed relationships, marriages and almost marriages that littered his adolescent years. A lump forms heavily in his throat and he tries to swallow it back down, he never thought he’d be the first Gallagher kid to get properly hitched, and hitched _successfully_ , because Fiona and Gus do not count. 

‘Really Fiona, it’s been crazy here...’ He tries again, 

He’s not making some dumb excuse, with the last month of being broken up (but so _not_ broken up) then going to engaged to wedding planning all within a few days, calling his older sister wasn’t top of his list.

Perhaps it should’ve been, he thinks, and Ian can’t help it but his stomach rocks with a wave of guilt, crashing onto his mental beach. It sits there, sickeningly. Fiona used to know everything, be part of everything that was happening with the family, now she’s hundreds of miles away and worlds apart. 

He knows it was a big deal for Fiona to move away from Chicago, away from them and everything she’s ever known, but that was her choice, he reasons, her choice to be a phone call away rather than just a bedroom. He doesn’t blame her though. 

‘So I had to find out from Lip? And only, might I add, because he mentioned how you and Mickey were looking at flowers downtown so obviously I asked him why on earth you would need ‘em and turns out you guys are getting fucking hitched!’ 

He dumps their coffee mugs in the sink and watches the brown liquid swirl away before he resigns and moves his phone up to his ear. 

‘I know I should’ve told you.’ He whispers, turning to lean against the counter top, wishing he didn’t feel so weird about talking about marriage with his older sister, ‘I just, I-I didn’t know how. It’s a really fucking long story, Fiona, and you’re not here…’ 

The guilt comes rushing back, like a wave crashing onto Ian’s shore. He grips the phone tightly. 

Fiona sighs down the phone, and she goes silent, he pictures her running her hands through her hair like she often does when she’s exasperated or worried. His chest warms at the thought, he misses her, he really does. 

There’s another beat.

‘I guess I should say congratulations?’ She says breaking the silence, almost posing it as a question. He can hear the hint of humour in her voice, playing it off as both a joke and a genuinely sincere statement. 

‘Thanks.’ Ian laughs lightly, quietly feeling relieved that she isn’t more upset.

The wave of guilt pulls back into the ocean. 

His eyes flicker over to the fridge door opposite, where there’s still an old post-it note of Fiona’s reading ‘ _Liam. Dentist 12:20_ ’ stuck above the handle. Her presence is everywhere in the house, it’s in the foundations, the walls and the floorboards. It’s her house more so than anyone else’s, a hell of a lot more than it ever was Frank’s, or Monica’s for that matter. Still, it stings to know that she isn’t here, _physically_. 

That she wasn’t here when he got out. 

‘How did it happen?’ She asks, her habit for gossip overriding her need to hang onto the sentimentalities. 

‘How did what happen?’ 

‘You know, the engagement, who asked who and all that crap. Not sure how it works when it’s just two guys.’ She snorts, and Ian rolls his eyes fondly, taking comfort in knowing it was meant harmlessly. 

‘Pretty much the same way as everything goes with Mick, fighting and making up. Except this time with added engagement’ The bad joke hangs for a moment before he hears Fiona bark out a laugh down the other end, he breathes out, relieved. 

He knows his and Mickey’s relationship can be volatile, especially physically. They’re tough, their hearts are tough. How can they not be when they’ve grown up in this shithole, surrounded by violence and poverty all their lives, only to top it off with a light dusting of homophobic and or, alcoholic, parents. They’re a product of their environment, that’s for sure, and it works for them. 

‘Not that I’m surprised or nothing, but you guys really got into a fight and then engaged? Sounds like you two.’ 

He winces knowing that Fiona hasn’t always had the best opinion of Mickey or their relationship, but he can’t really blame her given that he kept her out of the most of it in the past. It’s always been easier keeping her, and Lip to be frank, at arm’s length when it comes to Mickey, especially in the last few years. Especially after almost dropping everything and running off with him to Mexico. He was close, he was _so_ close. 

He’s quietly hoping the distance between his two worlds will finally change once they officially become family. 

‘Nah, I beat down Mick’s date and _then,_ I asked him to marry me.’ He smirks at the memory, sure it was childish to have gone after Byron the way he did but the guy had been pissing Ian the _fuck_ off and he was so fucking bored of playing games with Mick. Plus, no one gets to talk shit about his guy. 

‘Mickey’s date?’ She asks, her voice distorted with confusion and rightfully so. She’s missed a lot in the last few weeks, heck, Ian’s been having trouble keeping up with it all and he’s here. He can’t even remember the last time he spoke to Fiona longer than a few minutes except down the tinny prison phone - they must’ve talked when he got out of prison, right? 

It dawns on him quickly that he doesn’t think they’ve had a proper conversation since he got out of prison, weeks ago. It sits in his stomach, distastefully. That’s the longest they’ve gone without proper communication since he ran away when he was 16. 

‘It’s a long story Fiona...’ He sighs, throwing a glance over to the stairs, wishing she’d walk down them this moment, ruffle his hair like she used to then crack open a beer with him. 

‘When’s the ceremony?’ 

‘We’re thinking the next few weeks maybe, Mickey’s really getting into the wedding planning.’

‘Mickey Milkovich is enjoying planning a wedding? That I would like to see!’ She laughs, ‘but _jeeze_ , a few weeks? That’s pretty soon, why rush?’ 

‘Terry Milkovich paid us a visit cause he’s mad as shit. Shoutin’ the street down and pulling out his gun. It upset Mick so he’s taken to use the wedding as a chance to torture him, I guess he’s hoping he drops dead from his gay son being happy or some shit.’ Ian explains, his hands gesturing in ways that Fiona can’t obviously see. God, Ian should’ve killed the bastard back when they were kids because they deserve a break. Realistically, he knows he couldn’t do it, but fuck, he wishes Terry had gotten stabbed or something in prison the first few times round, it would’ve saved everyone a lot of grief. Himself included. 

‘No chance i’ll be able to make it then, I guess…’ Fiona says sadly, though Ian can tell there’s a small attempt to hide the tinge in her voice. She sniffles and the guilt threatens to crash back. 

‘I guess not.’ 

Ian thumbs at his engagement ring whilst the two of them hang onto the silence, unsure of where to move forward from here. 

‘You happy?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah I am.’ Ian affirms, and he is, he’s really fucking happy. He didn’t think he’d ever get to have this, especially not with Mickey. 

‘You gonna be Mr Milkovich?’ 

‘Fuck off.’ 

‘You guys talked about it?’ She asks, and he can tell this one is a genuine question, whether or not Ian is going to shed the Gallagher name once and for all. 

‘Nah, I figured we’ll get round to it after the gold chiavari chairs or something.’ 

‘The gold what?’ 

‘Don’t ask.’ he begs, he’s heard enough about chairs and all that for a lifetime.

‘I’m happy for you’ She says after a few moments, and his heart warms. He imagines her throwing her arms around his shoulders and bringing him in for a tight hug, locked and safe. 

‘I wish you could come.’ He whispers, his eyes stinging, his thumb rubbing at his band. He does, he really wishes his big sister could be there to see him and Mickey beat all the odds. 

‘I know.’ Her voice cracks ever so slightly and Ian aches at the thought of being the one who caused it, ‘I’m sorry I’m not gonna be there’. 

‘Not your fault.’ Ian sighs, and it isn’t. She needed to get out. 

‘Yeah.’ She sniffs and Ian has to bring his free hand up to wipe his damp eyes, ‘I want pictures.’ 

‘I’ll have Debs send you some.’ Ian says wetly, he’s pretty certain Mickey has even organised a photographer. There’s some rustling on the other end and he can hear someone call out Fiona’s name in the background, it’s muffled but distinct. 

‘Ah shit, I’ve got to go.’ She groans, and Ian figures it’s probably for the best. Someone’s bound to be home soon and he knows there will be a lot of questions if he’s found all teary eyed in the kitchen.

‘Okay.’ It’s all he can manage. 

‘I love you, and I’m happy for you.’ She says, ‘Tell Mickey I’m happy for him too.’ 

‘I will.’ He replies, ‘I love you.’

There’s a shuffle, then the line clicks and goes dead. 

He hangs against the counter, cradling the phone in both hands, cradling the connection with his sister. He realises she didn’t even ask him anything about prison, or the fact Mickey’s out too. He wonders how much his other siblings talk to her, does Lip keep up with her regularly? It’s hard to imagine with him having to balance everything with Fred. 

His phone chimes, he glances down. 

**3:39pm: MICKEY**

**‘picked out the tuxes. gonna look so fuckin good.’**

God, if fifteen year old Ian Gallagher could see him now. He shoots off a reply. 

**3:40pm:**

**‘can’t wait’**

And he can’t. 

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on twitter](https://twitter.com/buzzcutian) and oforamuse on tumblr
> 
> xoxo


End file.
